


Take Care of You

by tuesday



Category: Original Work
Genre: Dark, Dubious Consent, F/F, Light BDSM, Naked Female Clothed Female, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-10-26 12:01:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20741870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tuesday/pseuds/tuesday
Summary: "Don't be silly."  Mrs. Fitzwilliam let the strand of hair she held play out between her fingers like a thread unspooling, then released it, curl bouncing back into place.  Mrs. Fitzwilliam moved her restless fingers to the thin material of Tabitha's dressing gown, tracing the hem of the neckline.  "I'm your family now."





	Take Care of You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Visardist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Visardist/gifts).

> Note to my subscribers: Usually I tend to go for the lighter side when I have works tagged dubcon. Heads up this is not my usual fare in case you're expecting something lighter with lots of mutual affection and care. It's fall and time for ToT and various horror and dark fic exchanges. This will probably be a trend, though there will probably be happier, sweeter fic, too.

"Darling." Tabitha's mother-in-law had come to visit. Mrs. Fitzwilliam ("If you won't call me Mother, then call me Agnes.") was an odd mix of authoritative and overly familiar. She stood too close. Tabitha could smell the faintest hint of lilacs as she drew closer yet. A smooth, perfectly manicured hand reached out and cupped Tabitha's cheek, then buried itself in her curls. Mrs. Fitzwilliam seated herself on the edge of Tabitha's bed next to the pillows propping Tabitha up. "I came as soon as I heard."

"I'm fine. You didn't need to trouble yourself," Tabitha said. It was only a minor sprain. Nothing was broken.

As though Tabitha hadn't spoken, Mrs. Fitzwilliam continued, "Didn't I say it was inviting trouble to live all alone in this drafty old place? It's practically falling down around you."

"Vince loved this house," Tabitha said quietly. She squeezed her hands around the sheets covering her lap as Mrs. Fitzwilliam twined a lock of hair around her fingers and tugged. "He bought it for us."

"And now you're alone." Mrs. Fitzwilliam's smile was soft with false indulgence, affection Tabitha knew to be a lie. "It's only appropriate that you move back in with your family."

"I don't have a family," Tabitha said. It was a mistake.

Mrs. Fitzwilliam's smile disappeared, something sharp and wild and angry taking its place for a brief moment before her expression smoothed out again into another fond smile. "Don't be silly." Mrs. Fitzwilliam let the strand of hair she held play out between her fingers like a thread unspooling, then released it, curl bouncing back into place. Mrs. Fitzwilliam moved her restless fingers to the thin material of Tabitha's dressing gown, tracing the hem of the neckline. "I'm your family now."

"Mrs. Fitzwilliam—"

"Agnes," Mrs. Fitzwilliam corrected, nails briefly digging in through the cotton before she pressed the pads of the pads of her fingers down again in soothing little strokes. "Or Mother. Am I not your mother now?"

"Vince died," Tabitha said like it was just a fact, like it wasn't a jagged spike of bone lodged in her heart. The sky was blue. Mrs. Fitzwilliam was unsettling. Vince died. Whatever came before, Mrs. Fitzwilliam should have no claim to that title now.

"I know," Mrs. Fitzwilliam said. Her fingers trailed off the robe and across the line of Tabitha's collarbone. She tapped her index finger against the hollow where clavicles and breastbone met. "He's gone, but we remain."

"Mrs. Fitzwilliam—" Tabitha said again as Mrs. Fitzwilliam's hand dipped under her robe, skimming over the swell of her right breast, dragging her nails across the top of it when her name left Tabitha's mouth.

Mrs. Fitzwilliam pinched Tabitha's nipple, but her voice was sweet as she said, "How many times must I tell you? You know my given name. It hurts my feelings when you refuse to use it." Mrs. Fitzwilliam twisted, and Tabitha gasped with it, felt the pain jolt down her body. "Hush. You don't want the servants to hear."

Mrs. Fitzwilliam released her for an instant, blood rushing back in one throbbing heartbeat, then flicked her nipple with her nail. "Or maybe you do?" Mrs. Fitzwilliam sighed. Her expression verged on patronizing. "This is the sort of thing that makes me think you need to be taken in hand." Mrs. Fitzwilliam drew aside the sheets, then reached up and slid Tabitha's robe off her shoulders, baring her arms down to her elbows and her body down to her waist where the felt belt was tied. "Vincent had a good eye—you polish up so nicely—but oh, are you rough. You need someone to guide you."

Tabitha's cheeks burned. Her flush extended down her chest. Though Mrs. Fitzwilliam had only paid attention to the one nipple, both were hard and pebbled. Mrs. Fitzwilliam had never gone this far before.

"This isn't—it's not—" Tabitha tried to say, but she was distracted by the nip to her chin and Mrs. Fitzwilliam's playful grin.

"My lonely, lovely darling," Mrs. Fitzwilliam said as she undid the belt's knot. "You've been so alone, haven't you?" 

She discarded the belt over the side of the bed, the scrap of cloth fluttering down to the hardwood floor as Mrs. Fitzwilliam pulled Tabitha's robe fully open, exposing more of her. Her arms were caught in the arms of the robe. Her underwear covered barely anything at all. Tabitha was laid bare under Mrs. Fitzwilliam's hungry stare. She felt like Mrs. Fitzwilliam could see down to the bone, to everything hidden deep inside. Mrs. Fitzwilliam's lips quirked at the corners. Her dark eyes expressed her satisfaction.

Mrs. Fitzwilliam shifted closer. The lace of her skirts scratched at Tabitha's side. Mrs. Fitzwilliam tapped at the silk of the bow at the front of Tabitha's panties. "Were you expecting company?" Her smile showed teeth. "Did you dress up for me?"

"I wasn't expecting anyone," Tabitha denied. A benefit to marrying Vince—sweet, loving Vince—was that she only owned nice things now. The silk ruffles and spotless cream was no nicer than any other item in her dresser drawers.

"Mm." Mrs. Fitzwilliam dragged her finger down the front of the panties, over the pubis, dipping down to trace a circle around Tabitha's clit, not quite touching. She ran her fingers along the hem on either side, index finger on the left, pinky finger against the right, touching the crease of her thighs. She went lower, between Tabitha's legs, brushing her inner thighs with the side of her hand and her thumb. She tapped against the fabric over Tabitha's hole, and she clenched automatically. Mrs. Fitzwilliam pressed down more firmly, the tip of her middle finger pressing into Tabitha through the silk of her panties. "If you weren't anticipating my arrival, then why are you already so wet for me?"

Tabitha stared up at the beautifully paneled ceiling as her mother-in-law stretched the silk out of shape, sinking her finger in halfway up to the second knuckle. This had been Tabitha's marriage bed. She had looked at that same carving of a rose as her husband explained that he wouldn't be fulfilling his marital duties, the hand holding hers gentle, the tenor of his voice reassuring. They had curled into one another like napping kittens seeking warmth until the break of dawn.

Mrs. Fitzwilliam settled herself properly between Tabitha's knees. There was nothing kind about the gleam in her eyes. She was careful of Tabitha's left leg, moving in such a way that she didn't disturb the the pillow Tabitha's swollen foot and ankle rested upon—but careful was not the same as caring. Her laugh was wicked at the involuntary whine Tabitha gave when she withdrew her finger.

Mrs. Fitzwilliam hooked her thumbs in either side of the flimsy barrier covering the last of Tabitha from view. "Lift your hips for me."

Tabitha should have protested. She should have drawn her robe back up. She should have told Mrs. Fitzwilliam to get the hell out of her house.

"Why are you doing this?" Tabitha asked, unmoving except for the tremors emanating from the core of her, traveling across her entire body, expressed as tiny shivers along her hands and arms.

"You have no one else but me," Mrs. Fitzwilliam said. She rested her nails against Tabitha's hips, digging in slowly until they formed stinging crescent marks. "I'm all that you have left in the world." Her words were a melodic warning, voice light. Her face was smooth, skin pale besides a touch of rouge across her cheeks. Her lips were a lush red. The pupils of her eyes were pools of darkness drawing Tabitha in. "I'm here to take care of you."

_I'm here to take you,_ Tabitha heard.

She leaned in until her face was pressed against Tabitha's neck. She dragged her teeth along Tabitha's throat. "I promise to take very good care of you."

"Please—" Tabitha said, but didn't have the words to finish that sentence, didn't know what sort of sentiment she wanted to express. Please stop? Please continue? Please decide for her?

Mrs. Fitzwilliam didn't stop. She decided for Tabitha, tugging the underwear roughly off of her until it reached Tabitha's thighs, gentling when the movement jarred Tabitha's left leg and she let out a sharp cry.

"It would help if you would work with me," Mrs. Fitzwilliam said. There was no apology in her tone, only dry amusement. 

Her gaze skated across Tabitha's body like a physical touch, leaving heat in its wake. She examined Tabitha's breasts, the plane of her stomach, the curls of her hair above and below. She pulled the underwear all the way down, manipulating Tabitha's legs like she was a doll, pulling it off her right foot first, then lifting her left by the calf and setting it gently back down again. The underwear was discarded over the side of the bed same as the belt. She put her soft, smooth hands on Tabitha's knees and pushed. An acquisitive pleasure stole across Mrs. Fitzwilliam's face as she sat back and admired the full view.

Cool air drafted across Tabitha. It did nothing to lessen the heat of her face or the spark burning like tinder in her lower belly. She could feel her inner folds separating as Mrs. Fitzwilliam put her hands on either side of her outer lips and slowly spread them the same way she had done to Tabitha's knees.

"Oh, darling." Mrs. Fitzwilliam's voice was breathless. "You're beautiful."

Instinctively, Tabitha tried to close her legs, and Mrs. Fitzwilliam pushed back with a deceptive strength. 

"Don't you dare hide from me." Mrs. Fitzwilliam's mask was slipping. Depthless hunger peeked up from under it. Tabitha was mortified to realize that she really was very wet, slowly leaking out from her. Mrs. Fitzwilliam slid a finger through where it had coated the inside of her inner lips from hole to clit. "You're just brimming over with need."

"I'm not—" Tabitha's thoughts were clumsy and inchoate. "I don't need—" Mrs. Fitzwilliam pushed in her middle finger again, all at once this time, a sudden pressure soothing an ache Tabitha hadn't realized existed until it was addressed. "Oh." Mrs. Fitzwilliam withdrew her finger halfway, and Tabitha didn't recognize the protesting noise she made in response, though it issued from her own throat. Mrs. Fitzwilliam shoved it back in. "_Oh_."

"Lovely girl," Mrs. Fitzwilliam crooned, moving her finger in and out in a rhythm Tabitha's body longed to match. "Sweetheart. Darling. Needy little tabby cat." She pushed in another finger on her next pass, no warning, no change in expression. "You don't know what you want, but I do."

Mrs. Fitzwilliam settled her body against Tabitha, the main material of her outfit soft, the lace and chiffon decorating it scratchy and irritating against Tabitha's skin. It was a maddening contrast that shifted with every tiny movement from either of them. Mrs. Fitzwilliam grabbed Tabitha's hair, yanking her head back, and once again applied her teeth to Tabitha's throat as though she was determined to ensure Tabitha couldn't hide this, that she would have reminders that would peek out from even the highest collar. Mrs. Fitzwilliam sucked at the hollow of Tabitha's throat, and Tabitha tried and failed to hold in a warbling little sob. All the while, Mrs. Fitzwilliam's fingers fucked Tabitha, a painful pleasure that was building.

"That's it," Mrs. Fitzwilliam said. With her left hand, she dragged her nails down Tabitha's side, light enough not to draw blood, more than hard enough to feel it. It hurt. It shouldn't have made Tabitha gasp and want more. "Give yourself over to it."

Tabitha had kept her hands on the sheets, but the length of Mrs. Fitzwilliam's skirts had fallen across them. Tabitha found herself grabbing them, her left clenching in the delicate outer skirt, her right clutching at the tulle that gave them bulk.

Mrs. Fitzwilliam tutted disapprovingly. "You'll damage the fabric."

"Like you, ah," Tabitha gasped, "like you ruined my underwear?"

Mrs. Fitzwilliam bit her shoulder. "Once I take you home, where you belong, you won't need underwear." She pinched at Tabitha's nipple again, the left this time, then rolled it between her fingers. "I'll keep you in shifts and nightgowns, the occasional dress for formal dinners, always ready for me to push them up and have you whenever I please."

Tabitha could imagine it, the sheer shifts and silk gowns, the way Mrs. Fitzwilliam would breeze in whenever she pleased and play with Tabitha like she was a favored toy. On her wedding day, Mrs. Fitzwilliam had stood in for Tabitha's maid and pulled up her stockings, despite Tabitha's insistence she could handle that herself, while casually stating what a shame it was to cover up all that lovely skin. Her fingers had lingered on Tabitha's thighs long past the point of propriety.

"I have a home," Tabitha managed to get out.

"Yes. With me." Mrs. Fitzwilliam put her lips to the tip of Tabitha's right breast, sucking the still sore nipple into her mouth. 

Tabitha hadn't planned to touch, to give any encouragement beyond the tiny noises that kept slipping out, but her hand went to Mrs. Fitzwilliam's hair, grasping the pins keeping them up and pulling them out, burying itself in the dark spill that tumbled down her back. Mrs. Fitzwilliam's hair was thick, as smooth as Tabitha had suspected it would be.

Mrs. Fitzwilliam nipped Tabitha's breast. "Little beast. Did I say you could ruin my hair?"

The only thing ruined here was Tabitha, her legs spread wide, her body rocking into the fingers fucking her, covered in scratches and bruises and marks made from another person's mouth. Even when she'd been married, she'd never been so thoroughly and obviously ravished. Anyone looking at her would know _exactly_ what had been done to her.

"You'll help me fix it after this," Mrs. Fitzwilliam said. She slapped Tabitha's hand away, which Tabitha would have taken as discouragement—were it not for the fact that she moved down Tabitha's body, nuzzling at her belly, then pausing over the most private and intimate parts of Tabitha, her breath a warm, humid breeze teasing her. Tabitha clenched again with each gust, throbbing with need despite the diligent attention still being paid to her hole. "If you pull my hair, I promise to repay it tenfold."

Tabitha had no idea if that was a threat or encouragement. She put her hands back in Mrs. Fitzwilliam's hair.

"Good girl." Mrs. Fitzwilliam kissed Tabitha's inner thigh, a surprisingly gentle touch—then, of course, bit down, worrying the flesh between her teeth.

Tabitha had concerns when Mrs. Fitzwilliam directed her attention back to Tabitha's clit, but despite the frisson of fear, Mrs. Fitzwilliam showed the same sort of care she had with Tabitha's ankle, avoiding harm. She touched the tip of her tongue to the exposed glans, and Tabitha's whole body twitched. Tabitha's cry was a little bit pleasure, but mostly it was from jarring her ankle again. Mrs. Fitzwilliam laughed.

"You'll turn every pleasure into pain, won't you?" Her next lick was across the whole length of Tabitha, from where her fingers thrust in and out, between the inner folds, across and over her clit. Her mouth closed over Tabitha's clit, warm and wet, then sucked hard.

Tabitha had intended to keep quiet, if not silent. Mrs. Fitzwilliam had been correct. Tabitha didn't want the servants to hear. At least no one would have to know until they actually saw her what Mrs. Fitzwilliam had done—what Tabitha had allowed her to do. Tabitha screamed as she came, ecstasy crashing over her in a relentless, powerful wave.

Mrs. Fitzwilliam carried her through it with tiny little licks against her clit, the pace of her fingers slowing, changing to soothing rubbing against her inner walls instead of brutal, taking thrusts. She laughed again, a pleasant melody, as Tabitha, oversensitized, tugged at her hair, trying to pull her away.

She went, expression satisfied as she pulled her fingers out, leaving Tabitha feeling oddly empty with the loss. Mrs. Fitzwilliam said, "I'll give you a respite this time." She tapped her wet index finger against Tabitha's clit, sending another sharp jolt through her. "Let's get you cleaned up and ready for home. Much as I enjoy you this way, you're not fit for public consumption right now."

_This time._ Something wild and skittish lurked on the edges of the thought, like a doe in that frozen moment before she knew she should run.

Tabitha said, "I have an attendant."

"You had an attendant," Mrs. Fitzwilliam corrected. "Clumsy girl. Fell down the same stairs you did." Mrs. Fitzwilliam pulled out a kerchief and wiped her fingers on it, then used the same kerchief on Tabitha, rough strokes gathering up the mess. "Maybe I'll give you one of my girls after this."

"Is she—?" Tabitha asked.

"She'll be fine," Mrs. Fitzwilliam said dismissively.

Mrs. Fitzwilliam helped Tabitha dress. Tabitha had a guest. It only made sense to put on clothes for company. (She was afraid to see if Mrs. Fitzwilliam would have taken her with only the robe if she refused the help.) Mrs. Fitzwilliam didn't include underwear with the shift and dress she chose. She didn't include socks, either.

"You won't need shoes, not with that ankle. Your foot wouldn't fit. One of the servants will carry you." Mrs. Fitzwilliam rifled through Tabitha's jewelry, putting aside the pieces from Vince until she found a set of gold and sapphires—necklace, earrings, and bracelet—that had been a Fitzwilliam heirloom gifted for the wedding. Her touch was light as she put each piece on Tabitha. She murmured, as if to herself, "I knew this would suit you."

When Tabitha was dressed—though not ready; never ready—and they'd fixed Mrs. Fitzwilliam's hair, Mrs. Fitzwilliam called one of the men in her service in. She waved a hand at Tabitha. "The girl can't walk on her own. You'll be careful, won't you? Do remember the baluster is loose. I'd hate for anything to happen to my precious only daughter."

Her smile was pleasantly bland, as if there was nothing unusual in the situation. The man nodded. Without a word, he stooped and lifted Tabitha as though she weighed nothing. It was too late to run, even if she'd been capable of it.

Mrs. Fitzwilliam patted Tabitha's good ankle. "Come along, dear. Let's go home."


End file.
